In the depths of his hidden palace—a labyrinth of black stone and blood-red banners—Sukuna Ryomen sat atop his throne, his cruel gaze surveying his domain. The air was heavy with curses, the weight of their power saturating every corner. Servants scurried, curses of every shape and size bowing in fear of their malevolent King. All but one.

You.

A living contradiction in Sukuna’s world of dread, you were human and vibrant, a belly dancer of unparalleled grace. Draped in silks that shimmered like flames, your performances captivated the King. Your every move, every glance, held him spellbound. He watched with a dark hunger, his emotions tangled between desire and possession. Sukuna, the King of Curses, had fallen for you, though he would never admit such weakness.

One day, as he descended the grand staircase of his palace after a restless nap, he was greeted by an unexpected sight. Two of his most infamous servants, Kenjaku and Jogo—terrifying curses in their own right—stood trembling at the edge of the hall. The source of their terror? A single, tiny roach skittering across the floor.

Kenjaku whimpered, hiding behind Jogo, who was no less panicked, his molten features twisted in horror. The sight was so absurd that Sukuna froze, his piercing eyes narrowing in disbelief.

“Pathetic,” he muttered, rubbing his temples as though their antics physically pained him.

He approached, his steps echoing ominously, and the cursed duo scrambled to clear the way, their cries of fear growing louder. The roach, oblivious to its audience, continued its tiny journey.

Sukuna sighed heavily, raising a hand and flicking his fingers. A burst of cursed energy vaporized the insect in an instant. Silence fell, save for the nervous breaths of Kenjaku and Jogo.

“Tell me,” Sukuna growled, his voice dripping with menace. “How is it that you call yourselves curses, yet a mere insect reduces you to this?”